


I'll set you a little candle

by bluerighthand



Series: Growing Up A Shelby AU [3]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Depression, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Kid Fic, Multi, holiday fic, self-injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-18 05:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16988913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluerighthand/pseuds/bluerighthand
Summary: Alfie’s backstory: from a snowy Hanukkah in 1898, to the loss of his mother, dealing with antisemitism and starting a family of his own. A bit of Alfie/Tommy at the end. Set in the GUAS AU.Character death warning: Alfie's mum was only mentioned once on the show, but she features in this story quite a lot. NO actual violence is described, it's all from Alfie's POV.





	I'll set you a little candle

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: character death, antisemitism, references to Russian pogroms, self-injury, depression.

Hanukkah had always been Alfie’s favourite holiday. Well…it was true as a child his favourite holiday changed frequently; usually to whichever one it was at that moment, but Hanukkah was always special. There was just something about the warm candles, the snow outside, the wafting smell of delicious food, and all the laughter and games that made him feel content. Complete.

He mostly kept these opinions to himself, however. Although everyone enjoyed Hanukkah, and recognised it was an important reminder of past struggles, it was still considered a minor holiday in the grand scheme of things. His father would launch into a lecture about Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, the minute the words ’importance’ or ‘favourite’ came up in relation to holidays, and his mother simply grinned and showed him plans for next year’s sukkah, even more extravagant than the last.

His little brother Harry had always insisted Purim was the greatest holiday, but whether he was six or thirty, it was just because of the dressing up. Always one for theatrics.

Hanukkah also seemed to be the only festival that his non-Jewish school friends knew anything about, and it always made Alfie smile to be wished a happy holiday, or asked questions about the celebrations. In a gesture of holiday goodwill, most years he even made up with Sabini, which was usually a relief for both of them, as well as the entire teaching staff at school.

Winter was definitely his favourite season too. A crisp chill in the air, the chance of a day spent in the snow before curling up near by fire with his brother, as their dad, Isaac, read to them. Their mum, Sarah, was permanently surrounded by wool and knitting needles at this time of year, which made Isaac groan at the thought of which hideous looking jumper she’d force him into this Hanukkah.

“It’s tradition innit!” she claimed, tweaking one of the many brightly coloured pom-poms attached to her husband. Despite pointing out that it was in fact _not_ a tradition, Isaac suffered through a family dinner in the garish yellow thing, with his sons and wife snickering at him at every opportunity. He condemned it to the back of the wardrobe after the meal was over, returning to his usual black garments.

He did think about donating it, but Sarah already gave so many clothes to charity, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t love that she knitted him things. Even if he couldn’t pull off the pom-pom look. Maybe it would fit Alfie one day, he could see him enjoying it. Just like his mum, he was.

Some of the happiest memories of Alfie’s life were from the early Hanukkahs. In particular, one when he was around nine or ten. The snow had been falling thickly, creating the most beautiful scene outside the window, he and Harry spending most of the evening with their noses pressed up against the glass. After they’d lit the candles and sung the blessings, and their father had fallen asleep on the sofa, their mother put her finger to her lips, bundling him and Harry up in their coats and opening the door.

They’d played in the snow in their small yard for hours, the sky pitch black. Snow angels and several attempts at snow people covered the grass, and the boys could only be tempted inside again with extra sufganiyot: jelly doughnut treats traditional at Hanukkah. The next night, the snow had settled, and by the look of the clouds there was more to come. Isaac had kept up a pretence of being irritated about the weather the whole day, but they all knew he was only grumpy as he’d missed out the night before. Hence, all three boys were plastered to the window, and Sarah sighed fondly as she lit the shamash candle.

“Baruch atah adonai” she began to sing, waving her free hand at her family to gain their attention. Isaac shot her an apologetic smile.

“Eloheinu melech ha’olam” he joined, deep voice complimenting that of his wife’s, the tune more upbeat than that which they used for the Sabbath. Alfie joined in on the next line, knowing all the blessings by heart by now, and if Harry got muddled up and finished with “shel Shabbat” rather than “shel Hanukkah” nobody minded.

The second blessing followed, and by the time all the candles were lit, Alfie had found the stick he’d brought in last night, and was swinging it around as he pretended to be Judah Maccabee. The religious significance of Hanukkah had come to him with age, but for now, Alfie was content darting around the kitchen, leading his people to victory against the Seleucid army. Harry already had his coat, scarf and mittens on, (though admittedly all inside out and back to front) and was jumping up and down next to the window.

“Come here chicken” his mother laughed, attempting to loosen the huge knot he’d managed to tie his scarf into.

“When can I blow them out?” asked Alfie eagerly, the urge already unbearable as he plonked his ‘sword’ down on the table. There was just something about a lit candle that children couldn’t deal with.

“You know you’re not supposed to do that” said Isaac, subtly removing the stick from where they ate. “We’re meant to let them burn out. Hanukkah is the festival of lights after all”. Ten minutes later, when Alfie was lying on his back in the snow, staring up at the warm glow from the window, he was glad they’d kept them lit.

 

By the next year, Basil had joined their family. Sarah had found him in a cardboard box by the road, a small chocolate brown ball of fur. She’d brought him home in her coat, shielding him from the wind. There’d been an argument when Isaac saw the puppy; he’d recognised the breed, and knew that those things grew to be the size of a house, but once Sarah had her heart set on something nothing could dissuade her.

Alfie was ecstatic, he’d always wanted a dog, but he’d spent the first few weeks terrified his father was going to get rid of him, and even took it in turns with Harry to creep downstairs and check Basil was still nestled in his basket. They needn’t have worried however. An ear scratch here, an extra treat there, and soon enough Isaac had fully accepted that his house (and his heart) was now full of dog.

By the time next winter rolled around, Basil was ten times the size, with no sign of slowing down. He still had the hyperactivity of a puppy, and didn’t realise his own strength, often knocking various members of the household over in his enthusiasm to lick them. Harry had managed to ride him once, for a few seconds, before Basil was off, shooting across the park in pursuit of a squirrel. There wasn’t an abundance around to begin with; not many green areas to live in, but Alfie was sure Basil’s eagerness to befriend them was lowering the population further still.

He was a lovely dog, though. His fluffy brown fur was thick, and stuck out in all directions, and his tongue was always lolling out happily as he was petted. The best friend he could have had growing up, really.

 

A couple of years later, they went to Russia for Hanukkah. Alfie loved the bustle, the noise, the excitement of his Russian family, especially when they went for a holiday. He already had five cousins to play with, with more likely on the way according to his mum. They also had chickens, a cow, and an old donkey, who Alfie decided he could tolerate. He definitely preferred dogs though, and dreaded each time they had to leave Basil in the care of a neighbour.

As fun as it was when they got there, the _journey_ to Russia was always pretty terrible. Train delays, seasickness, no fires, no proper bed; being bundled up in a train carriage with his irritable younger brother and his sleep-deprived parents wasn’t exactly fun. They made the most of it though, Isaac attempting to teach them card games, and Sarah knitting woollen socks for the little ones, to get them through the harsh winters. They sang songs, whispering the lyrics though muffled laughter after someone had complained, and Alfie wrote stories in his head.

Maybe he could do that one day, write books.

They were always exhausted when they arrived at the little station in rural Russia, though thankfully this time they were able to call for a horse and cart to save them dragging their vastly over packed trunks along the bumpy, frost covered roads. The driver didn’t look very happy about it, carelessly shoving their cases up into the cart and setting off, barely giving them all enough time to get seated.

They shuffled closer together against the cold, Sarah tucked under Isaac’s arm and Alfie rubbing at his brother’s freezing fingers. Despite being late morning, and there was nobody else about, the only sounds the trundle of the cart as it bumped over rocks and uneven dirt. Arriving at the house, Alfie was struck by how quiet and still it all was. Usually their cousins all rushed out to greet them - and with at least half the family inheriting the fondness for long rambling speeches, it was a good while before they actually got through the door.

But something was different this time. The cart pulled to a stop, and the driver snatched the coins from Isaac quickly, not bothering to help as they attempted to drag their cases down from the cart. He cracked the whip, Alfie starting at the noise, and headed off without a word. 

“He was mean” said Harry, shivering as another strong gust of wind whipped around them. There was a twitch from an upstairs curtain across the road, and Alfie’s unease increased. Was it just because of the awful weather? Or was it something else?

There was a tap on a window, and Alfie turned to see his auntie waving at them. She vanished, the door scraping against the floor as it was opened. They hurried towards the warmth, but Rebecca had other ideas, stepping out into the cold and wrapping her arms around her sister. They hugged for a moment, before she pulled back shivering, grabbing a case and heaving it inside. They all started to speak at once as they crossed the entrance, but Alfie was confused.

“Where’s the mezuzah?” he asked, staring at the gap in the doorframe. The familiar box containing the small scroll was missing, the wood slightly discoloured. It was custom to touch the box containing the Shema prayer, and then kiss your hand, as a show of faith. Auntie Rebecca usually had one here, and on every other doorway inside the house.

“Oh” his auntie floundered for a second. “It got sort a’…damaged, yeah, a bit dirty. Cause of the weather. Your uncle’s gonna bring a nice new one alright? Come inside now”.

Alfie frowned, but shrugged his shoulders, placing his hand over the empty gap anyway before entering the house. Harry had to jump up to reach, and was on his third attempt before Rebecca pulled him inside, shutting the door quickly.

Their cousins ran towards them, and soon they were engaged in several games at once. There were stick swordfights, a Derby and a grocery shop all going on in one room. Harry was way too excited to stop running about when they were called for lunch, but Alfie sunk gratefully into a chair, eyeing the table laden with hot food. Another drawback of the long journey was the repetitive bland array of sandwiches, but eating a large cooked meal with his family made it all worth it, especially when his oldest cousin Hana was such talented cook.

Alfie was pretty sure they all fell asleep at some point that afternoon, but after a much appreciated nap, they were ready to enjoy the evening. It was rather crowded in the house, what with the four Solomons’ adding to a household of seven, but that was part of the fun, and the first night of Hanukkah was spent playing dreidel to the sound of the crackling hearth. It was more fun with lots of people, and though Alfie wasn’t having much luck at winning he was enjoying spending time with his family.

With the distance, and the expense of getting to Russia, they didn’t see each other enough.

 

When it was time to light the hanukkiah, Alfie and Harry looked at each other in confusion. Rather than gathering at the window, as was custom, their uncle called them all to the table, the hanukkiah and heap of unused candles in the centre.

“Why ain’t we putting it in the window, mum?” Harry asked. Sarah gave some offhand reply about how they thought it would look nicer on the table this year, but Alfie didn’t miss the way Hana’s eyes widened and flicked to the window, relaxing when she saw the curtains were drawn. He grew curious, wandering over just before the blessings and pulling up a corner, peeking out into the black beyond.

“Come away from the window, sweetpea” said his mother. Her voice was slightly strained, and his auntie wore a matching expression of unease, so he let the curtain drop, re-joining his family in the centre of the room. Why was it such a big deal?

After the blessings were sung, the candles lit, and general excited confusion settled once again over the household, children running this way and that and the adults all talking over each other, Alfie crept back to the window. He slid beneath the curtain, and onto the windowsill. It was wide, wide enough for him to balance on, and he was just small enough to stretch out his legs in front of him, so he wouldn’t be seen.

The thick layer of frost had hardened to ice, and the only light was from a lone lamppost down the street, which guttered and flickered out for several minutes at a time. There were a few slithers of light, from the edge of the neighbour’s windows, but all the houses had their curtains drawn, closing them off to the world around them. It was a strange sight to Alfie, so used to seeing the glass lit up with menorahs, with laughter and the wafting smell of good food tricking outside.

He was old enough now to _understand_ the stares, the muttered comments, the names the kids hurled at him at school. But…everyone here was Jewish. What were they all so afraid of?

He pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them and hugging his legs as he watched the festival of lights pass by in near total darkness.

 

Two and a half years had passed when Sarah had told them the news. Alfie was fifteen, and had just started working full time in his father’s bakery. Old scars now wound their way up his arms, and his hands were growing rougher from working and fighting. He towered above his little brother now, having grown almost as tall as his dad in the past year, and perfected that slightly manic glint in his eyes that made other kids back away.

Despite his permanently bruised knuckles, and the painfully fresh tattoo of a crown on his wrist (that had almost made his father faint when he saw it), Alfie still loved to spend time with his family. The last person to joke about him ‘going soft’ had ended up in the river after all, so he was content to squish onto Harry’s bed in the evenings with him and their mum. On this occasion, it was getting late, and Harry was angling for another story, but Sarah shook her head, saying she had something important to talk to them about.

“I’m goin’ away for a bit boys. To Russia, stayin’ with your auntie and uncle”.

“Are we not coming?” asked Harry, confused.

“Not this time chicken”.

“How are you long for?”.

“I’m not sure” she said sadly. “Prob’ly at least a few months”. Harry’s jaw dropped.

“A few months?” echoed Alfie.

“That’s too long!”.

“I need t’ be with your auntie right now sweetie” said Sarah. “She’s sick”.

“What’s wrong with her?” Harry asked. Alfie’s thoughts jumped to Tommy’s mother. Hadn’t he said that she was sick?

“It’s the baby. Pregnancy ain’t easy on a woman”.

“Was it ‘ard for you mum?”.

“Nah, I was alright. Went as well as they could’ve. But your auntie’s strugglin’. Your uncle’s trying to look after yer cousins, and keep his job, but there ain’t no one to look after Becca in the day”.

“Is Uncle Yakov gonna lose his job? Why? He’s the best tailor in Russia!” piped in Harry, before frowning, and falling silent. Alfie watched him, bitter thoughts crawling to the forefront of his mind. He couldn’t stand that his brother had to learn these things. That some people would always stare at him with hate, deny him jobs, housing, basic fucking human respect.

 “Let’s jus’ pray he doesn’t” said Sarah, avoiding the question.

“Are you gonna be back for the High Holidays?” asked Harry, voice small.

“I dun’t think so, darling. Baby’s due in the winter”. His bottom lip wobbled. “Hey now” she said. “None of that. Your dad’s gonna need you to be big n’ strong to help him with the sukkah okay?”.

“But…you always make the sukkah” protested Alfie. “Dad won’t do it the same”. Their sukkah, a temporary tent-like creation made for the harvest festival of Sukkot, put the whole street to shame every year. Isaac’s job was to stay as far away as possible until it was finished, as he was usually more of a hinder than a help; concerned with things like straight walls and measurements (and many other things Sarah didn’t have time for).

“I’ll leave ‘im a plan” she grinned, but her face fell at the disappointment in her sons’ eyes. Basil padded in, flopping down on the rug and resting his head on Alfie’s foot, which hung off the edge of the bed.

“Do you really have to go?” said Alfie, bending down to scratch behind Basil’s ears in an effort to cover the slight desperation in his voice.

“I gotta be there for your auntie, I’m so sorry Alf”. Harry leant against her, and she wrapped an arm around shoulder, pressing a kiss into his hair.

“Will you ring us, every day?” said Alfie.

“Not every day, sweetpea. It’s real expensive over there innit. But as often as I can. Can’t go a week without hearing from my best boys”.

“I can write letters” said Harry proudly, perking up a little. “We learnt how in school”. Sarah grinned.

“You send me them letters then chicken, and Auntie Becca and your cousins can write back to yer too”.

“Are we goin’ to Russia for Hanukkah then?” Alfie asked. Sarah patted the empty space beside her, and Alfie shuffled over, freeing his foot. Basil had taken the pat to be aimed at him, so launched himself onto the bed, the wood creaking under their combined weight as he settled himself across their legs.

“I’ll be back by then. You think I’m gonna let your dad make the latkes again?”. The boys laughed, remembering the strange burnt objects their father had sheepishly presented them with a few years before. It was even funnier as he could bake the best bread in London, but add some oil or frying into the mix and he was hopeless. He just burnt everything.

“It’s just too quick!” he defended. “With bread you’ve got time to sort yourself out, this - one second you look away and then it’s gone and burnt itself!”. Alfie was the proud owner of both gifts, and was often the designated chef at meal times.

“And no, you ain’t going to Russia this year”.

“Why not? We could meet ya out there n’ all come back together”. Sarah gave him a sad smile.

“You’ll ‘ave a much better time here sweetie, trust me”. Alfie frowned, remembering the strange atmosphere last time they went. Had it got worse? What was going on in Russia?

“Promise? Promise you’ll be back by then?” said Harry.

“I promise”.

 

Alfie was dreading the day she’d leave. They all were, really, even in Russia. Their dad had told them Becca felt awful, needing help, even trying to persuade Sarah to stay in England. But their mother could see through the forced energy on the phone, the over-cheerfulness of the letters. Nothing happened until it happened, their father said. But the day came, and Alfie dragged his feet along with his mother’s case all the way to the station. Just to delay it that little bit more. Maybe she’d even miss the train if he walked slowly enough. They’d left early deliberately though, with plenty of time for goodbyes, and Alfie’s dawdling.

To be honest, Sarah was no better, spotting a tiny dog on the way, and starting a long distracted ramble about how Basil was the perfect size. He bounded along ahead of them, tail wagging excitedly as he barrelled towards his new friend. The other dog wasn’t so keen, and Sarah had to kneel down in the street to console Basil, Isaac giving passers by an awkward nod as they stared at his cooing wife on the ground.

They reached the station…eventually, Sarah and Alfie taking a seat whilst the others went to check on the train time. Alfie had a feeling she wanted to talk to him, when she’d convinced Harry to go off with their dad, and he was right.

“Be good” she warned, turning and tapping him on the nose. He waved her off, but laughed. “I’m serious Alf. Dun’t give ya dad a hard time while I’m gone, mm? If I ‘ear about a single fight, I’m gonna be very disappointed”.

“Okay mum” he said after a moment, staring at his knees. This wasn’t how he wanted their goodbye to go. He knew how much it hurt both of his parents when he came home with cuts and bruises, with someone else’s blood all over his knuckles. They thought it was their fault, that they’d raised him wrong, but it was all him.

His temper was like a matchstick, sometimes. All it took was one little spark, and the whole fucking world could go up in flames.

Sarah bopped him again, making the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Cheer up you” she said. “Didn’t mean t’ upset you. Jus’ think of ya dad’s poor old heart. It can’t take the strain”.

“I heard that” called Isaac, as he strode across the platform with Harry. “I’m as fit as a fiddle”. The next twenty minutes or so were spent in a family huddle, as they waited for the train to pull into the station. Basil was happy to sprawl at their feet, playing with Harry’s shoelaces as they all wrapped their arms around each other. Alfie squeezed his eyes shut.

The train chugged to a stop on the platform, and the tinny shriek of the guard’s whistle and the bustle of disembarking passengers surrounded them. Sarah gave them all one last hug, and Alfie dug his fingers into the wool of her coat instinctively as she tried to pull away.

“I love you Alf” she said, ruffling through his hair. “I’m gonna be back soon alright, I’ll ring as soon as I get there, sweetie”.

“I love you too mum”. And then she was gone.

 “What’re ya gonna do on the train without us?” asked Harry, as a guard waved them back from the platform edge, shutting the carriage door firmly. Sarah rolled down the window.

“Oh” she said, grinning. “I’m sure I’ll find somethin’ to get up to”.

“I know that face” said Isaac, “what trouble is your mother going to get into, ey?”. Harry smiled sadly. Sarah blew Isaac a kiss in reply, and he caught it, pressing his palm against his cheek. Alfie and Harry didn’t even make sick noises. There was a hiss of steam, and the train started to move, slowly inching across the tracks until it gathered speed. “L’hitraot” Isaac called. _See you again._

People didn’t like to say goodbye in Hebrew, because it sounded so final. But as Sarah waved at them from the window, hair flying around her face as she grew smaller and smaller, Alfie couldn’t help but feel a sense of finality.

 

The months passed slowly. It was strange at home, without her. Sarah called every week, like she’d promised, but it wasn’t the same. Their dad was quieter, spending more and more nights working late in the bakery, or squinting over the Torah scroll for hours on end. Harry had started skipping school more often than not, and if he did go, well, Alfie was glad their mother couldn’t see the purple stripes lashed across his fingers.

Alfie had tried not to fight. Honour his promise to his mum, keep himself to himself. It hadn’t lasted long. Sabini had pushed him too far: leaving two of his friends in hospital and snatching a crate full of weapons. He had to fight back. If Sabini saw him as weak now, he’d lose all his territory. Afterwards, when his dad wiped the blood out of his eye and stitched up the jagged gash to his stomach, the guilt set in.

“Please don’t tell mum” he begged, grabbing at his dad’s shirt. “Please don’t tell her”. Isaac regarded him for a moment, bloody cloth hanging limply in his hand, before he left without a word. Alfie cried that night. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done it, but once he started, he couldn’t stop. By the time Isaac had returned, whispering apologies into his son’s hair, Alfie’s cheeks were raw where he’d scraped at them, nails leaving a bloody trail down his skin. Half-moon imprints cut deep into his palms, but Isaac unclenched Alfie’s fists and soothed the stinging with a cool flannel.

The looks he got in shul were enough to make him tug on his sleeves, until his shirt covered the ruined skin of his hands. He didn’t care what people thought of him, that much was clear from school, but it was different with G-d. He started going more often, at quieter times where the world around him could fall away, and it was just him and HaShem.

He knew his mum would be doing the same, thousands of miles away. Maybe like this, they could get through it.

 

Alfie started to suspect something was wrong about two weeks before Hanukkah. Sarah was supposed to be back by now: Alfie had been planning her ‘welcome home’ meal for weeks, but Isaac had told them that her train across Europe was cancelled, and she was waiting for another ticket. It wasn’t unusual, it had happened to them as a family before, so the boys didn’t think much of it, distracted by the newly fallen snow and the happy news of a new baby cousin.

The suspicion started when the phone stopped ringing. They both badgered their father with questions on why their mother hadn’t called, but he’d answered them all in vague terms, not really listening. Alfie and Harry concluded that it meant she was on the train right now, and could hardly sleep that night with their excitement. But Sarah didn’t arrive home the next day. Or the one after that.

Their dad had also been acting strangely lately, scanning every inch of their Jewish newspaper twice over before throwing it down in frustration. They heard him pacing around at night, and he didn’t seem to be sleeping at all if the dark circles under his eyes were anything to go by. One night, the slight creaking of the floorboards stopped, and Harry crept into Alfie’s room, desperate to know what was going on.

They tiptoed across the hall, peeking through gaps in their father’s panelled door, hopeful that he had finally gone to sleep. Isaac’s shoulder shook as he cried, and Alfie pulled his brother away quickly, stomach sinking.

What the fuck was going on? Harry tightened his grip on Alfie’s hand.

 

The next night, Isaac read Harry a story, Alfie sat listening in a chair across the room. There was something strange about the way his father seemed to savour each word, almost stalling and turning the pages reluctantly until he reached the end. He put the book down with a sigh.

“Alfie, come downstairs a minute”.

“What about me?” Harry asked, frustrated to be left out as Alfie rose.

“I’ll come and say goodnight in just a minute” he promised, and Harry lay down apprehensively, wrapping an arm around his teddy bear as Isaac pulled the door shut. Alfie followed him downstairs, stomach flipping. He’d had enough of all this secrecy.

“Dad, what’s happened?” he said, once they were out of Harry’s earshot. “Something’s happened to mum, ain’t it? Will she not be back in time for Hanukkah? It’s okay, we can still ‘ave a good time-”. He was cut off as Isaac drew him into a hug. Taken aback slightly, he returned the gesture. “Dad?” he asked, voice small. “Tell me what’s wrong”. Isaac pulled back, gripping his arms tightly.

“I’m going away for a few days” he said. “Could be a week, could be longer”.

“What?” Alfie cried. “You’re gonna leave too? Why would you-”. Isaac shushed him quickly, glancing up the stairs before pulling him into the kitchen and shutting the door.

“Why are you going too?” Alfie asked anxiously.

“I’m going to find your mum”.

“Find her?” he repeated, confused. “Isn’t she at Auntie Becca’s house?”. Isaac scrubbed a hand over his beard, pulling out two chairs for them. He drummed his fingers on the table, trying to find the words. Alfie stared at him impatiently.

“There’s things happening, in Russia” said Isaac, “to people. Jewish people”. His tone was low, serious, and Alfie swallowed.

“What things?”.

“You remember what I told you, about some people not liking us?”

“I’m not fuckin’ six years old” said Alfie, rising from his chair, resisting the sudden urge to kick something. “I _know_ people hate-”

“Sit down” said Isaac firmly. Alfie sat reluctantly, leg jumping.

“In Russia, there’s a lot of folk like that at the moment”. Alfie considered this. This information wasn’t exactly new. Alfie couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t known he was different. But the tension in his father’s face made him think things were worse over there than in Camden.

“Is that why Uncle Yakov lost his job?”. Isaac nodded. “But what do you mean, _find mum_? What happened?”.

“Those people…some of them are soldiers. They’ve been going to a lot of villages, Jewish villages, and a week ago they went to ours”. Alfie felt a renewed wave of nausea pass over him. He gripped the table, knuckles turning white. “Everyone had to split up, and your mum hasn’t made it back yet. I’m going to go and find her”.

“But…what if you can’t?” managed Alfie, thoughts spiralling. “Why wouldn’t she have jus’ gone back to the house?”.

“Because it’s not safe there anymore” Isaac blurted, loud and unrehearsed. “Not for us”. Alfie fell silent, a deep crease in his forehead. It wasn’t safe _at all_? He’d grown up with warnings like that all his life: don’t go down this street, or to this shop, or that market. But…they’d spent so many winters in that little Russian village, made so many happy memories there. They hadn’t changed, but it seemed the world had.

“I’m so sorry, Alf. I don’t want to involve you in any of this, but I’ve got to go away. You’ve got to be brave for me, okay?”. Alfie nodded, eyes stinging as he inferred what Isaac was leaving out. What the soldiers had done to their village. What they could have done to his mum.

“When are you coming back?” Alfie sniffed, rubbing at his eyes furiously. “For Hanukkah?”.

“I’m going to do everything I can to make that happen, okay?”. _What if they never came back?_

“I can help” Alfie cried, chest heaving, “let me come with you”.

“You can help me by staying here” said Isaac, cupping his son’s cheek. “I need you to look after Harry for me”. Alfie groaned, twisting away. Isaac grabbed his shoulder. “Alfie, look at me. I need you to take care of your brother, do you understand?”.

Looking into his father’s eyes, Alfie could see the raw grief there. He was noticeably thinner, and the bags under his eyes were darker than ever. Alfie had never seen him like this before. “Your granddad’s coming tomorrow, but until he gets here, it’s just you and Harry”.

As stupid as it sounded for a gang member, who’d had more fights than he could count and also sliced up a fair few people with knives by now, Alfie was scared. _There’s a lot of folk like that at the moment._ What if they were coming here too? What if he couldn’t protect Harry?

Isaac disappeared upstairs, turning off Harry’s light and returning with a small bag slung across his shoulders. He kissed Alfie’s forehead, pressing a key into his hand to lock the front door with.

“Keep it bolted” he whispered. “Don’t let anyone in but your granddad, okay?”. Alfie only stared up at him, stomach churning.

“What if they come-”

“They’re not going to come here” said Isaac. “I promise, Alfie”. Another hug, the last one this time. Alfie clung to his father’s coat. “Brave boy” he said, before opening the door.

“Find her” Alfie whispered.

“L’hitraot”.

“L’hitraot”.

_See you again._

Alfie bolted the door quickly, running up the stairs and resting his elbows on the windowsill as he watched his father cross the street. He didn’t sleep that night, whispering the Tafilat HaDerech, the traveller’s prayer, over and over, long after his father had passed out of sight.

 

The rough wood of the coffin scraped into Alfie’s palms as he lifted it. He was numb to the sting and walked blindly, guided by the dead weight on his shoulder and the rhythmic thud of the damp ground beneath his feet. He vaguely sensed his brother beside him, felt his small hand slip into his own once they’d lowered the casket. Someone was speaking to him, but he didn’t react, eyes locked on the blurring grass.

He was jostled slightly, as a rip was torn into his jacket. _Keriah_. He’d look at the loose threads later, run his fingers over the tear that symbolised a loss, but now he couldn’t move.

He didn’t recite the blessings. He didn’t say anything at all.

 

Alfie had attended a shiva house once before, when his neighbour’s wife had passed away. Shiva was the period of mourning. The whole community came together, cooking meals, cleaning, and praying for the mourners. Alfie hated the pitying glances, the sympathy. He wanted to be left alone, to fight and hurt and bleed until everything just _stopped_.

Someone had gone into his room once, tried to sweep the floor, change his bedsheets. They hadn’t stayed long. The look of disappointment on his dad’s face was punishment enough for the abuse he’d yelled at them.

He wanted to write to Tommy about it, maybe even call him if his father was away, but thought better of it. His mother was sick, he shouldn’t bother him with thoughts of death. So, he was alone. He’d pushed Harry far enough away that he’d stopped coming to Alfie at night, when the dreams got too bad. Stopped throwing his arms around him, or gripping onto his fingers in shul. Alfie’s own nightmares had him waking up screaming, what could he do for his brother. Basil whined and pawed at his closed door.

Alfie was usually loud, wanting to talk to anyone and everyone, but this lump in his throat and the weight on his shoulders had made him mute. A closed book. He hardly left his room anymore, despite his dad’s attempts to get him outside. Not even when he’d smashed his mirror, blood running in rivulets down his forearm. He let it bleed, cursing himself for forgetting.

He’d not seen his mother for so many months that the details were escaping him. What had he already lost? Had he imagined the little wisps of her hair, that curled in the rain? The tunes she used to hum when she knitted?

Her rings lay in a small jewellery box on his dresser. Harry had slid it into his room, hoping to get some sort of reaction from him, but Alfie had nothing to give. He took them out sometimes, like he’d done as a kid. They could only fit on his little finger now. Alfie’s favourite was a thick gold one with a square face. Which hand had she worn it on?

Weeks had passed now, since the funeral. Harry had started going to school again. Just seeing those bruises, from a teacher or other kids Alfie couldn’t tell, stirred up that crippling guilt. He should be there for him, but he wasn’t. Their dad had also re-joined the community, as far as Alfie could tell. He couldn’t bring himself to ask. He was so fucking selfish.

Was this it for him? Saying the mourner’s kaddish for the rest of his days?

 

It was late in the evening when his father pushed open his door. Alfie was lying on top of the covers, eyes glazed over as he stared blankly at a loose thread. Isaac patted his leg, and he shifted over an inch, just enough for his father to sit down.

“She was born blind, you know” said Isaac. The statement caught him off guard, and Alfie replied without thinking, before realising he hadn’t spoken properly in weeks. Only shouted, or spoken with his fists.

“What?”

“Your cousin. According to the doctor, she can’t see a thing” he said, rubbing his eyes. Alfie closed his own, imagining what it would be like to live this way. He didn’t like it, the light got lost in all the darkness. He supposed he’d been living like that too.

“Can’t they do anything?” he asked quietly, rolling the thread between his fingers.

“No” said Isaac, but softened at Alfie’s expression. “It’s not for lack of trying, son. Sometimes there’s nothing you can do”. They were silent for a while, and Alfie just lay there, too exhausted to put up a fight, to push him away.

“Why do people hate us, dad?”.

“Oh Alfie”.

“Mum didn’t do anything wrong” he managed, before the first tear dripped onto his pillow, and everything came crashing down.

“I know” his father soothed, pulling him up and into his arms.  

“It’s not fair” sobbed Alfie, hands fisting in his father’s shirt. The thought of letting go was impossible.

“I know”.

“Why didn’t G-d do something? Does he even fuckin’ care?”.

“He always cares. He’s suffering with us”.

“Why didn’t he stop them?”. Isaac squeezed his shoulder.

“You can choose what to do with yourself in this world. Some people spread love, while others get caught up in hatred. It’s awfully hard to stop an idea, but with good people – like you, and your brother, we’ll get there”.

“I ain’t a good person” Alfie cried. The words hitched in his throat, but he forced them out anyway. It was true. “I fight”. 

“You are kind, and strong, and brave” Isaac countered. “I know you fight to protect your friends, and to stand up for yourself, and what you believe in. I know that, Alf. I just don’t want you to get hurt”.

“So G-d can’t stop people from gettin’ hurt?”. Isaac considered this.

“Can you think of a time where he did?”. Alfie thought for a moment.

“Hanukkah?”

“Mhmm”

“Pesach?”

“Yes”

“Purim?”

“That’s right. Do you see?”. Alfie nodded, shoulders drooping.

“But ain’t there still bloody…thousands of people in pain?”

“Don’t be daunted by how vast it all is. Some people can’t be reasoned with, as there’s no reason to their thoughts, but if you can help one person, you’ve helped us all. A little bit of light dispels a lot of darkness”.

“But I couldn’t help _her_ ” he whispered. Not his mother. Isaac rubbed a hand over his back

“You know your grandmother died when I was a boy” he started. Alfie squeezed his eyes shut, but nodded. His father’s voice was soothing. “I thought that was it. I loved her so dearly that her loss-” he swallowed, “made me certain I would never experience happiness again”. Alfie sniffed. “Then your mother came along. With that smile, and her ridiculous way of speaking”. They both chucked a little, Isaac squeezing Alfie’s shoulder. It was the first time he’d smiled in weeks. “Didn’t know _what_ to make of her at first. But the matchmaker seemed to think we were perfect for each other, so I took a leap, went for it; and it turned out we were. Now, you’re the eldest, so it’s tradition” he said, reaching into his shirt pocket, and pulling out a familiar gold band. His mother’s wedding ring. “One day, you’re going to meet someone who will make your world light up again”. Alfie’s eyes stung with tears again, and he took the ring shakily. Isaac closed his fist around it. “And you give them this ring”.

 

— Fifteen years later —

 

Alfie carefully placed the shamash candle back into its holder, in the centre of the hanukkiah, and stepped back; the warm glow of all nine candles reflected in the glass of the window. He sang the two blessings, eyes roaming up the wall to the framed picture of his mother. Sarah was laughing, hair blowing out behind her from a country breeze. His brother had the same one, in his own home. So did their father.

There was movement at his side, and Alfie turned to look down at Tommy, their sleeping new born son cradled in his arms. Charlie looked so cosy, in the warm blanket Alfie had knitted him, and he stroked a hand over his son’s head. The candlelight flickered in Tommy’s blue eyes, making the gold ring on the chain around his neck glow even brighter. Alfie stared down at his family, and felt as if his heart would overflow with love for them both. Cyril had padded in behind Tommy, and sprawled at their feet, covering their bare toes with his warm tummy.

“Chag sameach” said Tommy softly, leaning up to press a kiss to Alfie’s mouth. Alfie smiled into the kiss, wrapping an arm around Tommy’s waist and holding him close.

Yeah, he thought. He may not have defeated armies, nor could he make everything right in the world, but he had his own little miracle right here.

**Author's Note:**

> Chag sameach = happy holidays.
> 
> So this holiday fic definitely turned into something more serious, and I'm so nervous to post this because I'm not sure what the reaction will be. Many, many, parts of this are based on me & my family. These experiences won't be the same for everybody, and while I am Jewish, I'm young and I definitely don't know everything, so if there's a better way I could have handled this topic please let me know. I'm also not Orthodox, so there may be some mistakes on that front too.
> 
> With that said - thank you for reading! <3 I hope everyone had the best Hanukkah/is enjoying the run-up to Christmas! Come say hi on tumblr: @bluerighthand
> 
> [If I've confused you about Hanukkah](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hYeg7QbGR7E)   
>  [If you want to hear the blessings](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kb7q7ztFOPc)
> 
> Also...you know where GUAS is heading now! Though I'm sure it's not much of a surprise that it will eventually be Alfie/Tommy.


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